The Unexpected Meadowlark

She sits poised and ready, but melting into her chair. She wonders why she has even put herself in this situation. The thumping of her heart is loud enough that she smiles apologetically at her neighbors. Each of them seem to be pre-occupied in their own world as they hum  their prepared pieces. Sarah needs to busy her fingers. Her application sheet takes the brunt of her anxiety.  It is as if her fingers think the sheet of paper is a piano. Where is all the extra saliva coming from? What if she drools when she opens her mouth.  Her feet even have a mind of their own as they tap dance on the top of her worn brown guitar case.

Stop. Stop. Just breath.

It is almost as if  the world has stopped. Her iPhone still displays 11:11am as she checks it for the fifth time. Why is the phone all wet? Nope just sweat. Is anyone else boiling? The young brunette across from her is wearing a fur collared jacket wrapped tightly around her neck. Her hair sits exquisitely in it's little ballet dancer bun. Am I in the right area?

I could see it all on Sarah's face.

I laugh though because what she doesn't know is she is a born meadowlark. Her big humble brownish hazel eyes are full of imagination and every time her fingers move across guitar strings it is like a dance. She just needs to get lost after the first chord.

As a toddler, Sarah's little arms could direct symphonies for hours. Teddy played the bass; old Mr. yellow duck played the horn, and Tanya the Flamingo played the violin-first chair. Then there was everyone else. When Sarah was eight she accompanied them on Daddy's guitar whom she called Mellow Yellow.  It was on her 10th birthday that Sarah realized what she wanted to do. She wanted to make music with Daddy.

"Sarah Collins."

Sarah neatly nestles her long straight hair to one side as she follows a smartly dressed woman into a room.  She is left standing in the center of the room. A steel and rather cold looking table holds coffee cups, scattered sugar packets, and a massive pile of headshots. Sitting behind the mass of strewn items is The Man. The Man who seems to hold Sarah's fate in his little skinny hands.

"So, Ms. Collins, is it?" He is finishing the remains of a sugar donut.

"Ah, yes, sir." Sarah begins to unlock her guitar case.

"Any relation to Steve Collins?"

"Yeah."

"Good man. VERY talented."

Sarah pulls Mellow Yellow from his case.  As she does so, her eyes stop and look at a wrinkled photo of a man pinned into the velvet. A slight smile manifests on her lips.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you VERY talented like your Dad?"

"Not like my Dad, no sir."

"Really. That's....honest....I guess. Well let's hear it."

"Meadowlark. It's called Meadowlark."

As Sarah finishes the last chord, she looks at The Man. He sits in the same position. His demeanor still dry. Legs crossed and expression emotionless. He picks up a pen and writes briefly on her headshot.

"You are correct. You are not VERY talented like you're Dad."

"No, but I will be better than him."

"How do you know?"

"Because he told me. My Father wouldn't lie to me." Sarah clicks the lock on her case and lifts it to leave.

"Well, see you in September then. Next!"

The Man doesn't look at Sarah while she exits. He doesn't see her grin and the tears in her eyes, but they aren't meant for him. As Sarah pushes through the revolving door into freedom the sun and wind hit her face at the same time. Leaves crunch under her feet like croutons as she slowly walks down the white marble steps.

"Dad, I did it! Can you hear me?!!" The autumn air rushes in as Sarah yells to the sky. To me.

I know Baby Girl. My little Meadowlark.

"I am your little Meadowlark. I believe you now. I believe you!"

I love it when you laugh, Sarah. I love you.

I watch her as she dances down the street. I love it when she dances.